RETALIATION; A POEM. FIRST PRINTED IN MDCCLXXIV, AFTER THE AUTHOR'S DEATH. Dr Goldsmith and some of his friends occasionally dined at the St James's CoffeeHouse. One day it was proposed to write epitaphs on him. His country, dialect, and person, furnished subjects of witticism. He was called on for RETALIATION, and at their next meeting produced the following poem. Or old, when Scarron his companions invited, Each guest brought his dish and the feast was united; If our landlord' supplies us with beef, and with fish, Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the best dish: Our Dean shall be venison, just fresh from the plains; Our Burke shall be tongue, with the garnish of brains : 1 The master of the St James's Coffee-house, where the Doctor and the friends he has characterised in this poem, occasionally dined. 2 Doctor Bernard, dean of Derry, in Ireland. 3 The Right Hon. Edmund Burke. 4 Mr William Burke, late secretary to General Conway, and member for Bedwin. 5 Mr Richard Burke, collector of Granada. 6 Mr Richard Cumberland, author of the West Indian, Fashionable Lover, the Brothers, and various other productions. * 7 Dr Douglas, canon of Windsor, (now bishop of Salisbury) an ingenious Scotch gentleman, who has no less distinguished himself as a citizen of the world, than a sound critic, in detecting several literary mistakes (or rather forgeries) of his countrymen, particularly Lauder on Milton, and Bower's History of the Popes. 8 David Garrick, Esq. At a dinner so various, at such a repast, Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last? Here, waiter, more wine, let me sit while I'm able, Till all my companions sink under the table; Then, with chaos and blunders encircling iny head, Let me ponder and tell what I think of the dead. Here lies the good Dean, re-united to earth, Who mix'd reason with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth: If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt, At least in six weeks, I could not find 'em out; Yet some have declared, and it can't be denied 'em, That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide 'em. Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much: Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind. Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat, To persuade Tommy Townshend' to lend him a vote; Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining: Though equal to all things, for all things unfit, Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit; For a patriot, too cool; for a drudge, dis obedient, And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. In short 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, sir, To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a What was good was spontaneous, his faults were his own. Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must sigh at ; 9 Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to Alas, that such frolic should now be so quiet! the Irish bar. 10 Sir Joshua Reynolds. 11 An eminent attorney. Since this note was written, of "Calvary, or the Death of 1 Mr T. Townshend, membe.: for Whitechurch Christ." What spirits were his! what wit and what | Detection her taper shall quench to a spark, whim! And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the dark. 1 Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb! Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball! Now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all! But missing his mirth and agreeable vein, Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts, The Terence of England, the mender of hearts; are. His gallants are all faultless, his women divine, And comedy wonders at being so fine; His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd Say, where has our poet this malady caught, Or, wherefore his characters thus without fault? Say, was it that vainly directing his view To find out men's virtues, and finding them few, Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf, He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself? Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax, The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks: Come all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines, Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant reclines: When satire and censure encircle his throne, 3 Here lies David Garrick, describe him who can, An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man; As an actor, confest without rival to shine; As a wit, if not first, in the very first line : Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart, The man had his failings, a dupe to his art. Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread, And beplaster'd with rouge his own natural red. On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting; 'Twas only that when he was off, he was acting. With no reason on earth to go out of his way, He turn'd and he varied full ten times a-day: Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick If they were not his own by finessing and trick: He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack, For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them back. Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came, And the puff of a dunce, he mistook it for fame; 6 What a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave! How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you raised, While he was be-Roscius'd, and you were bepraised! But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies, Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will, Old Shakspeare receive him with praise and with love, And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above." 5 Mr Hugh Kelly, author of False Delicacy, Word Macpherson write bombast, and call it a style, to the Wise, Clementina, School for Wives, &c. &c. Our Townshend make speeches, and I shali compile : New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross over, No countryman living their tricks to discover; 6 Mr William Woodfall, printer of the Morning Chronicle. 7 The following poems by Mr Garrick, may in some measure account for the severity exercised by Dr Goldsmith in respect to that gentleman. JUPITER AND MERCURY, A FABLE. A great love of truth, yet a mind turn'd to fictions; H Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt pleasant creature, And slander itself must allow him good-nature; He cherish'd his friend, and he relish'd a bumper, Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper. Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser? He was, could he help it? a special attorney. Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind, What pity, alas! that so lib'ral a mind Should so long be to newspaper essays confined! Who perhaps to the summit of science could soar, Yet content "if the table he set in a roar ;" Whose talents to fill any station were fit, Yet happy if Wood fall confess'd him a wit. Ye newspaper witlings! ye pert scribbling folks! Who copied his squibs, and re-echoed his jokes; Merry Whitefoord, farewell! for thy sake I admit That a Scot may have humour, I had almost He has not left a wiser or better behind; hard of hearing: When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios, and stuff, He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff. ON DR GOLDSMITH'S CHARACTERISTICAL COOKERY. Are these the choice dishes the Doctor has sent us? 1 Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably deaf, as to be under the necessity of using an ear-trumpet in company. 2 Mr Caleb Whitefoord, author of many humorous essays. 3 Mr W was so notorious a punster, that Dr Goldsmith used to say it was impossible to keep him company, without being infected with the itch of punning. said wit. This debt to thy mem'ry I cannot refuse, Thou best humour'd man with the worst humour'd Muse." SONG: INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY Ан me! when shall I marry me? But I will rally, and combat the ruiner: PROLOGUE TO ZOBEIDE; A TRAGEDY. WRITTEN BY JOSEPH CRADDOCK, Esq. ACTED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN, MDCCLXXII. SPOKEN BY MR QUICK. In these bold times, when Learning's sons explore The distant climates and the savage shore; 4 Mr H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Adver. tiser. 5 Mr Whitefoord has frequently indulged the town with humorous pieces under those titles in the Public While botanists all cold to smile and dimpling, He this way steers his course, in hopes Yet ere he lands he's order'd me before, Whilst from below the trap-door demons rise, The maddening monarch revels in my veins. Where are we driven? our reckoning sure is Give me another horse! bind up my wounds! lost! seen 'em This seems a rocky and a dangerous coast. The inhabitants are cannibals, I fear : tance: Our Captain, gentle natives! craves assistance; Our ship's well stored-in yonder creek we've laid her, His honour is no mercenary trader. Equally fit for gallantry and war EPILOGUE SPOKEN. BY MR LEE LEWES, IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN, AT HIS BENEFIT. HOLD! Prompter, hold! a word before your nonsense : I'd speak a word or two, to ease my conscience. Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursued! soft-'twas but a dream. Ay, 'twas but a dream, for now there is no retreating. If I cease Harlequin I cease from eating. 'Twas thus that Esop's stag, a creature blameless, Yet something vain, like one that shall be nameless, Once on the margin of a fountain stood, They never have my gratitude nor thanks; My horns! I'm told horns are the fashion now." Whilst thus he spoke, astonish'd, to his view, Near, and more near, the hounds and hunts men drew; Hoicks! hark forward! came thundering from behind, He bounds aloft, outstrips the fleeting wind: And at one bound he saves himself like me. [Taking a jump through the stage door. THE LOGICIANS REFUTED. IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT. LOGICIANS have but ill defined As rational the human mind; Reason, they say, belongs to man, But let them prove it if they can. Wise Aristotle and Smiglesius, By ratiocinations specious, Have strove to prove with great precision, With definition and division, Homo est ratione preditum; But for my soul à cannot credit 'em ; And must in spite of them maintain, That man and all his ways are vain; And that this boasted lord of nature Is both a weak and erring creature. That instinct is a surer guide, STANZAS Than reason, boasting mortals' pride; And that brute beasts are far before 'em, Deus est anima brutorum. Who ever knew an honest brute At law his neighbour prosecute. They eat their meals, and take their sport, To treat as dearest friend, a foe; Nor draw the quill to write for Bob: |